A gay story: The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 12 Swallow Records chartered a plane to fly the entourage to Atlanta for the next show. Candii had decided the bands and roadcrew had spent far too long on interstate buses, and it was now time for some serious rockstar luxury. Everyone on the tour was relieved, beginning to tire of the long road journeys. A potential nine-hour bus trip that everyone was dreading had suddenly morphed into a ninety minute chartered flight on a private jet. Nobody was about to complain.
Everyone congregated at Louis Armstrong (the airport, not the musician) mid-afternoon, well in advance of take-off. Pete had consumed an $80 airport sandwich (Swallow was paying for everything) and was standing at a newsstand, passing time, deciding on his in-flight reading material. He was thumbing through the current issue of The Economist when Ace approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey,” Ace whispered, pointing to a magazine rack on the back wall, “hey, come check this shit out.” Pete followed Boipussy’s lead singer to the back of the store.
Pete’s eyes widened. Outside of adult bookstores, he’d never seen so many gay porn magazines in his life. Every type of man, every type of sex, every kink imaginable. He looked around to make sure of his surroundings — yep, there was no doubt they were in an airport.
Ace sorted through the magazines and took a small selection to the counter.
“It’s all taken care of, sir,” advised the cashier, pushing Ace’s credit card away.
“Huh?” asked Ace.
“Payment. As I said, sir, your purchase is all taken care of. Swallow is paying.” The cashier glanced at Pete, flashing a faintly sinister grin. “Enjoy your reading material, and please, enjoy your flight.”
Ace jammed his newly acquired porn stash into his backpack. “Well, that was strange. I’ve never even seen so much as a fuckin’ Playboy on sale in an airport before, but look at what I’ve got here.” He rifled through some of the titles he’d picked up. “‘Big Dicked Rednecks’, ‘Hole Punch’, and this one, ‘Footlongs’.” Ace held up the cover, showing Pete the cover model. “That’s not a footlong,” he judged, “that’s about fourteen inches. And take a look around you. I’m showing you these gay porn magazines in broad daylight in the middle of a fuckin’ airport, with security detail fuckin’ everywhere around us, and nobody fuckin’ cares.” Pete watched business travellers and tourists alike walking past as though they weren’t even there. “Hey!” he yelled. “Anyone want to check out some hot gay porn? Clear the pipes before your flight?” He held up his newly-acquired copy of ‘Dark Dicks’. Some big-dicked African dude was on the front cover. “Hey, come check out this dude’s massive fuckin’ cock! Look at the size of it! I’d let this dude put my ass in traction just as long as he was my wet nurse!”
Nobody batted an eyelid. Security didn’t move.
Pete brushed his Irish red hair away from his face. “I agree. I mean, the last place I’d ever expect to find a stash of porn mags would be at a news stand in an airport. Are airports opening adult bookstores now? Will passengers get a free handjob in future once they pass security?”
Ace thought that’d be an awesome idea for a song. And come to think of it, the security dude that checked him for explosives was pretty fucking hot. Maybe security should’ve conducted a deeper search, just to be sure.
They wandered back towards their gate, planning to sit and wait until their flight was called, but on the way, they found Carlos sitting at a bar with a cold beer in his fist. As his boyfriend and Ace approached, he waved the bartender over. A $35 beer landed in front of Pete, and another in front of Ace. “Swallow is paying,” informed Carlos.
“We know,” deadpanned Ace. “Take a look at this.” He opened his backpack, showing the A2M frontman their stash. “We just bought these porn mags from that newsstand over there. They’ve got Time, Newsweek, and the New Yorker, but the back wall is all gay porn. There weren’t any chick mags to be found, by the way. Nothing for the straighty one-eighties. Just out of curiosity, I looked for a Penthouse or a Hustler, but I couldn’t find one. It’s wall-to-wall dick. Pete and I took these mags to the counter, and we got the exact same message from the weirdo at the register. ‘Swallow is paying’.”
Their flight was announced and the bartender leaned over. “Drink up, boys,” he said, “you don’t want to miss your plane.” Pete wasn’t sure how the barman could possibly have known they were passengers on the charter flight that had just been called.
As they walked onto the aerobridge, down the stairs and across the tarmac, Pete realised he didn’t have anything to read. He wished he’d bought a copy of the Atlantic, which he probably would’ve done if not for getting sucked into the vortex of Ace’s wall of smut. “Hey,” he said to Ace, “give me one of those porn mags we just bought.”
Ace pulled one out of his backpack at random and gave it to his ex. Pete looked at the title. “Mexican Inches.” He smiled; Pete already had some of those at his disposal.
The entourage walked up the stairs and boarded the aircraft. The captain taxied out and blasted the engines down the runway before catapulting everyone into the sky.
Unlike the bus, seating on the flight was pre-allocated, and for some strange reason, the seat next to Pete was vacant at take-off. Passengers were free to move around once the seatbelt light had dimmed, and he expected either Carlos or Ace to sit next to him, but they were both too late.
“Hello,” said a deep, dark voice.
Pete turned to face his flight neighbour. It was the vocalist from Hypnosissy. Oh my fucking god. “Hey,” Pete whispered nervously.
“Nice to meet you,” said the voice. Words came slowly. “Please allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Samael. I am in a band called –”
“I know,” replied Pete. “I know who you are.” He nervously pushed his hair behind his ears as he tried to focus on the receding clouds.
“I like your band,” said Samael. “I’ve been watching you.”
“Thank you,” replied an increasingly anxious Pete. “My band, or … just me?”
“Both,” replied Samael.
They flew in silence for a while. Pete wished he could swap seats with someone — anyone! — but at the same time, he felt transfixed, rooted to his seat, completely unable to move.
“Where are you from?” asked Samael.
“You mean … where do I live?”
“Yes,” nodded Samael.
“Ummm, I’m actually from Atlanta. That’s where Ass To Mouth is from. In a strange kind of way, it feels like I’m heading home right now. Carlos, my boyfriend, is the singer.” Pete lifted his butt up off his seat, scanning the plane, looking for him. No sighting. Maybe he was in the bathroom. “Where is Hypnosissy from?”
“We are from no specific location,” replied Samael. His eyes were intense, dark and brooding. Almost hypnotic.
Fuuuuuuuuuck, thought Pete.
Hypnosissy’s vocalist reclined back into his seat. Pete’s heart was pumping hard.
A few moments passed before Samael spoke again. “Please don’t let me distract you from enjoying the flight, Pete. Did you bring anything to read?”
Against his better judgment, something compelled Pete to pull the porn mag out of his backpack. Again, he looked around the plane to see if he could see Carlos. He couldn’t find him. He couldn’t see Ace either.
“Open it to page 12,” Samael suggested. Pete complied.
“Look closely,” said Samael. “Study the image well, my friend. What do you see?”
Pete’s eyes landed on an image of a well-built Mexican, sitting on the ground. The man was wearing a tight black t-shirt and a pair of light blue boxers. His erect penis poked out through the fly, and the look on his face said ‘I know you want it, so come get it’. The man’s hair was shoulder-length, dark and straight. His eyes were brown, his chest was hairless and his nipples stood to attention. He noticed the man had been photographed in a barn, or on a stage that was set up to look like a barn. Bales of hay were stacked up behind and beside him. The image was well-lit, like it’d been captured on a cloudless day at the height of summer.
“What do you see?” repeated Samael.
Despite the extraordinary detail in the frame, Pete could only focus on one thing. “Cock.”
“That’s right, my friend. Stare at the page. Allow yourself to be consumed by it. What do you see when you watch Hypnosissy perform on stage?”
“Cock.”
“Good boy.”
Pete gazed at the image. His dick was as hard as a fucking baseball bat, and it felt just as big.
Samael leaned across and held the palm of his hand above Pete’s dick, on the outside of his jeans. He didn’t touch Pete in any way.
From absolutely nowhere, Pete felt an orgasm approach. It bore down upon him like a runaway freight train. Against his will, his eyes closed, but the picture from the magazine was imprinted on his brain, consuming his entire consciousness. He came so hard that his load squelched through his undies and his jeans, leaving an obvious puddle on the outside.
When Pete opened his eyes again, Samael was gone. The seat next to him was vacant again.
“Hey dude,” said Carlos, flopping down beside him a few minutes later, having absolutely no idea what had just occurred. “How cool is this? We’re flying to our next gig, in our own fuckin’ hometown!” It was at this point that Carlos noticed the pool of cum on the outside of his boyfriend’s jeans. He was about to comment, but right at this moment Ace came over to talk to them.
Ace stood in the aisle, leaning on the back of the vacant seat in front of them. He also couldn’t help noticing the thick pool of splooge that had soaked its way through Pete’s pants. “I’m gonna need to borrow that mag when you’re done, Pete,” Ace deadpanned. “Looks like it must be a good one.”
Pete was in a state of high anxiety. He looked down at his jeans. They were fucking soaked. “Where the fuck have you two been?” he seethed. “I was looking around the cabin trying to find you, but I couldn’t.”
“Well, obviously we’ve been on board since take-off,” drawled Ace. “Thunderbirds weren’t ‘go’ today.”
“I was sitting just over there,” disclosed Carlos, pointing to a row on the other side of the fuselage, “and Ace was two rows behind me. I think they’ve spaced us all out to spread the weight evenly.”
Pete wasn’t sure how the distribution of bodies in the cabin could possibly affect the balance of the flight — the plane’s undercarriage was surely groaning with musical instruments and heavy stage equipment.
“Excuse me for a second,” said a very confused Pete. He stood up, ran to the bathroom, and locked himself inside. Pulling wads of toilet paper out of the wall dispenser, he cleaned himself up as best he could. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and took a few deep, settling breaths before returning to his allocated seat. He looked around the cabin on the way back. Hypnosissy’s lead singer was nowhere to be seen.
If Candii wasn’t a rock promoter, she would’ve loved to be a flight attendant. She joyfully pushed a trolley down the aisle in a low-cut top and short skirt. She approached Pete’s row. “Bourbon, scotch, vodka or gin?” she asked, bending forward to emphasise her cleavage. There was no coffee or tea on offer today.
Pete wasn’t interested in breasts, no matter how big they were, and besides, his mind was still spinning from what he’d just experienced. “Bourbon, please Candii,” Pete replied. “Make it a quadruple.”
With a small pair of tongs, Candii delicately clunked some ice cubes into a glass, then filled the vessel to the brim with neat liquor. She wasn’t one to judge. “Enjoy!” she smiled, pouring the equivalent of a quarter of a bottle into Pete’s cup. Pete drank it like soda. He felt a little woozy as the plane began to descend.
The flight taxied to the gate and touring group disembarked. Pete was a little wobbly on his feet, in equal parts due to the disorienting experience he’d had on the flight and the alcohol he’d consumed to quell it. Two buses waited to take the party to their hotel.
Carlos was overjoyed to be home again, even if it was just for two short nights. He wondered how many of A2M’s Eternal fans might come to the show tomorrow night. For a brief moment, he thought about heading to his apartment to check everything was OK, but he resisted the temptation, knowing it’d break the spell of the tour.
From his window high up at the Four Seasons, he gazed over his city from a perspective he’d never experienced before. And for a moment, his mind drifted north to Delaware. He remembered the times he spent in Atlanta with Gorilla, forever checked in at the Sleep Inn, the worst motel in town. If only Gorilla could’ve seen where Carlos was right now.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered the posthumous gift Gorilla had bequeathed Carlos’s band. He resolved to dedicate tomorrow’s show to the memory of his fallen trucker, gone way too soon.
Pete interrupted his boyfriend’s reminiscences. “I need to talk with you, babe. I’m worried.”
Carlos snapped back to reality. “What’s up?”
“I don’t actually know.”
“Huh?” Carlos shook his mane in confusion. “Then why are you worried?”
“Because something very weird is happening, but I can’t work out what it is, or how to explain it. But let me ask you this. Didn’t you find the airport strange today?”
“In what way?”
Pete took a breath. “Tell me one time in your life you’ve ever bought something at an airport and felt the need to take out a loan? We spent $200 on a sandwich and three beers, but Swallow was paying. Ace and I bought eight porn magazines — and let’s not overlook that, by the way, we bought hardcore dick mags in a fucking airport! — that were worth $300, and again, Swallow was paying. Swallow isn’t a big company, Carlos. I’ve checked their accounts. They’ve got twelve, maybe fourteen bands signed, including us and Boipussy. They ain’t Sony or Universal. So where does this unlimited line of credit come from? And while I’m at it, how do they find the money to put on a tour like this?”
Carlos smiled. “As long as we build an audience on this tour and we get to make a record at the end of it, I don’t care. Swallow’s expense accounts aren’t any of my business. I’m not their auditor.”
Pete paused for a moment. Maybe his boyfriend had a point about that. “But wait,” he said, speaking quickly and urgently, “this is the *really* strange bit. The seat next to me was empty at take-off …”
“I know,” Carlos interrupted, “but it’s not strange. Same with me, same with Ace …”
“Yeah, but as soon as the seatbelt sign was turned off, someone sat next to me. It was the singer from Hypnosissy. I’d never met him before, so why did he feel the need to sit next to *me* within seconds of the seatbelt light being turned off? Somehow, he seemed to know I had a porn mag in my bag, and somehow, I felt compelled to take it out. He directed me to a specific page and made me focus on it. And then, he held his hand above my dick and he made me cum in my jeans. He didn’t touch me, but he still made me cum. Like, I don’t know how that could possibly happen, unless he fucked with my mind somehow. And you know how much their stage visuals have affected me, so maybe he knew about that somehow? It felt like he sensed something vulnerable inside me and he zeroed in on it, but I don’t know why. I’m scared about what might happen at tomorrow night’s show, dude.”
Carlos wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, it was weird to learn that porn was now on sale in airports, but nothing about the extortionate prices of snacks or drinks in the terminal surprised him. Airports gouged, that’s what they do.
He wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist and pulled him close, worried whether Pete was perhaps suffering from some low-level mental exhaustion. “Maybe we’re learning that touring can be hard, babe. Like, the only other time we’ve played so many shows so close together was our mini-tour of Canada. This tour is the real deal, and maybe it’s harder than we thought it’d be.” He ran his hands lovingly through Pete’s hair. “Let’s just go easy on ourselves for a while. We’re back home right now, even though in some ways it doesn’t really feel like we are, because we’ll be gone again the day after tomorrow. But we’re gonna fuckin’ rock the casbah tomorrow night, even though I’ve got no idea where we’re actually going to be playing. Then we play Miami and New York City, and then we’re done. You don’t have a desk job calling you back, and you’ve got half a million in the bank from your payout, so once these three last shows are done, you’ve got some serious downtime ahead of you if you need it. And then, when you’re ready, we go into the studio to make our first record.”
Pete took a deep breath. Maybe this was all in his head. Maybe he was jumping at shadows. Maybe he was worrying about nothing. “I’m sure you’re right, babe. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being on tour, and we’re winning so many new fans, but yeah, maybe there’s a lot of stuff on my mind right now.”
“You wanna take a nap?” asked Carlos.
“Probably a good idea to try, even though I don’t know if I can fall asleep right now. I feel a little wound up.”
Carlos pulled the blockout blinds closed, and 4pm Atlanta disappeared. Carlos rubbed his boyfriend’s feet and toes until he fell asleep. Pete didn’t dream.
Around 6, Carlos’s phone pinged. A message from Ace.
Ace: hey dude me and candii are gonna head out to get something to eat, come with us?
Carlos: pete’s tired, he’s sleeping … no, wait, he just woke up …
Ace waited while Carlos and his sleepy boyfriend conferred.
Carlos: yeah sure we’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes, i know a place we can go and you’ve already been there b4
Pete got up, rubbed his eyes, brushed his hair and got dressed.
Carlos took them to Eternal.
“This is our place,” Carlos explained to Candii as Ace opened the door for her. “It’s so weird to be back home while we’re out on a national tour.”
Candii looked around the venue. “This place is so cool! Ass To Mouth plays here?”
“All the time,” Pete answered. “Actually, Carlos works here, behind the bar.”
“Sweet,” nodded Candii, smiling.
Right on cue, Carlos’s boss and friend, Adahlia, bounded over like an excitable puppy. Her huge goth tiddies bounced up and down. “Hey babe!” she squealed, hugging her favourite employee. “I’ve missed you so much! I know you guys are playing in town tomorrow night, but I can’t go, I need to work.” She knew it’d be quiet at Eternal tomorrow, because everyone would be at the show. “You want a shift?” she joked. She noticed Pete. “Fuck, hey, dude,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. She knew Pete was the reason Carlos was so happy and grounded lately, and she’d always be grateful to him for the stability he gave her friend. She laid her eyes on the blonde dude. “I think I remember you. Wait, don’t tell me. Ace? From Boipussy?”
“Hey,” said Ace, leaning in for a hug. He didn’t remember her name, but he remembered her massive rack.
“Fuck, I love this place,” repeated Candii, drinking in the room.
“Eternal is where we first met Ace,” Pete informed her. “I think we played a double-bill here one night, and our two bands have been tight ever since.”
Candii nodded. This was the place where A2M and Boipussy first connected.
Adahlia addressed the trans girl. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you Ace’s girlfriend?”
“I’m Candii. Nice to meet you,” she said, holding a friendly hand out to her before entwining her fingers in Ace’s. “Yeah, Ace is my rockstar.” She looked around the room again before turning her attention back to Adahlia. “Hey, do you know if Eternal is booked for tomorrow night?” Candii explained that she’s the record company rep organising the tour.
“Nup,” Adahlia replied. “Not tomorrow. We didn’t book anyone to play because everyone’s gonna be at your show. We’re expecting a quiet night, but we still need to open up.”
“We’ve got a venue partially set up,” explained Candii, “but it’d be so much sweeter if we could play here instead. Do you think that could work?”
“Probably.”
Candii turned to Pete and Carlos. “How would you feel if we played here tomorrow night? I doubt we’d be able to set up a bate room, but …”
Pete immediately felt more at ease. “I’d fuckin’ love to play here! Eternal feels like home.”
Adahlia took Candii out back to crunch numbers and hammer out details. It only took five minutes. After expecting tomorrow night to be Eternal’s slowest night ever, it now promised to be off the fucking chart. Candii walked back out to break the good news to the boys while Adahlia hit the phones, urgently calling in staff from corners far and wide.
“Done! We’re playing here tomorrow night!” Candii announced. “Ace, give me a few minutes, I need to call some plays.” She arranged for the outdoor stage, currently under construction, to be dismantled, and she ordered the road crews to store their band’s equipment in Eternal’s basement. “Oh, and we’re changing the order tomorrow. Boipussy will be playing second last, and Ass To Mouth will headline.”
“Won’t the other bands be pissed?” Carlos asked. He wondered if Pete had a point about the financials — even though he’d be the last person to complain to play at Eternal, Candii must’ve pissed a lot of Swallow’s money up against a wall for a last-minute change of venue.
Candii’s reply to Carlos’s question was no-nonsense. “This is your hometown, this is your home venue, and I’m the fucking boss.”
The four of them ordered dinner, and Adahlia brought a couple of jugs of free beer over to their table. A DJ was on tonight, playing goth and darkwave. A small handful of black-clad introverts danced to the tunes, clutching glasses of red wine.
“So what’s it like here?” asked Candii.
“You mean what’s Eternal like,” Pete clarified, “or what’s Atlanta like?”
“Both. Either.” Candii raised her beer glass to her Botoxed lips as their meals arrived. “Tell me stories.”
Over the next hour or so, Carlos and Pete told Candii tales about growing up as metalheads in Atlanta. Carlos talked about how excited he was to get his first guitar. Even though it was a nylon string acoustic, it was better than the tennis racket he used to prance around the house with, and at least he could begin to learn basic chords with it. He got a job after school, saved up for a cheap electric guitar and a small amp, discovered Iron Maiden, and the course of his life was set. Neither he nor Pete could remember exactly how they first met, and they didn’t like to think about it either, because for so many years, Carlos was a total asshole to Pete even though they were bandmates, and the pain still weighed on the Mexican’s soul.
Candii loved hearing about how musicians found their passion and got started. As an industry insider, she knew how much of a tough slog it was to play shows to small audiences earning no money, hoping desperately for a break, but at least for Ass To Mouth and Boipussy, those days were now in the past.
Adahlia didn’t mean to interrupt, but a range of urgent logistics issues such as ticketing and security needed to be sorted at short notice if tomorrow night’s show was to proceed at Eternal. Candii went backstage to work on the problem.
“I feel so fucking horny right now,” said Ace. “You fellas up for some fun?”
“Even though we’re at home,” smiled Carlos, “we’re still on tour. And you know what they say about that?”
“What happens on tour stays on tour,” said Pete, downing the rest of his beer. “Let’s go.”
They went out back to the office near the loading dock. The three men kissed and groped each other’s flesh, and before too long, Ace had pulled the Mexican’s jeans down and jammed his tasty brown cock in his mouth. Pete kneeled next to Ace, and the two of them played with Carlos’s juicy sausage, making him sweat and moan. Pete had sucked Carlos often enough to know when he was just about to cum, and he gave his boyfriend’s shaft an uncomfortable squeeze. “Not yet, dude,” he said looking up at him, planting a delicate kiss on the head of his dick. “Not yet.” Ace brushed Pete’s hair away from his neck and began licking it before lifting his t-shirt and sucking on his nipples. Pete moaned; he loved getting his nipples sucked.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been fucked by a man,” Ace admitted. “Fuck, it’s been at least two fucking weeks. Way too fucking long.” He pulled his denim down over his ankles but left his boots on. He climbed onto a desk, lay down and spread his asshole wide. Carlos stood over him. “I need this so fucking bad,” Ace seethed.
Pete stood to one side, jerking off, as he watched his current boyfriend plough his previous one. Ace tugged on his cock as A2M’s frontman fucked him missionary.
The door swung open. “OK, I think we’re good to go for tomorrow …” Adahlia gasped, stopping in her tracks as she laid her eyes on three sweaty metalheads going at it.
Candii’s cock began to swell under her skirt as she watched Carlos fuck her rockstar’s boipussy. “Oh my god, Ace,” she whispered, “is this what you boys get up to when us chicks are out of the room?”
Ace craned his neck up. “Yep. Exactly.” His hands reached back to grip Carlos’s butt cheeks, pulling him closer and deeper.
“Can we play too?” Candii glanced over at Adahlia.
Adahlia stood next to Carlos, watching him plough Ace’s ass. She rammed her tongue into his mouth, and Carlos groped her fat tits, noticing she’d recently had her nipples pierced. Pete crouched down next to the desk and sucked Ace’s cock into his mouth. Feeling Carlos’s dick in his ass and Pete’s mouth wrapped around his shaft was too much for Ace to take. Pete took Ace out of his mouth and jerked him off all over his face. Seeing his boyfriend’s face streaked with cum, Carlos couldn’t hold back anymore, and he shot his load deep inside Ace’s sweaty asshole.
Candii pulled her cock out and began jacking off. “Fuck, this is so hot,” she said, watching her boyfriend’s sweet load dripping down Pete’s chin. She was happy enough just to watch, until Adahlia approached her. They began kissing, and Adahlia pushed Candii’s hand off her cock and began jerking it herself. “Ooh, your titties are nice and big,” Candii praised.
“I like yours too, Candii,” Adahlia replied as she kissed her tattooed neck. With one hand on Candii’s boytoy, her other latched onto one of her huge plastic tits. She gave it a squeeze and Candii squealed.
“Come fuck me, Candii,” said Ace. He was still lying on his back on the desk, with Carlos’s load seeping out of his ass.
Candii pushed her boytoy into Ace’s asshole and began thrusting. “Fuck, rockstar, your hole feels nice and sweet.” She knew her cock was, by now, thoroughly coated with Carlos’s sperm. Ace reached up to squeeze her huge fake titties, and she leaned forward to kiss him.
“You gonna cum in me, Candii?” Ace panted.
On the other side of the room, Carlos’s face was buried in Adahlia’s pussy. She sat in a chair, holding Carlos’s head tightly against her naked, wet cunt, writhing and moaning as the Mexican’s mouth and tongue got her off. Pete knew his boyfriend and Adahlia had fucked around before, but he’d never seen him even so much as make out with a chick, let alone dive between thighs. While women did nothing for Pete, something about watching his boyfriend mashing his face into Adahlia’s cunt got him hard. He jacked off with the taste of Ace’s load still fresh on his tongue and drying on his face. He came into his palm and ate it, and out of the corner of her eye, Candii saw him.
“Fuck, rockstar, did you just see that?”
Ace nodded. Pete was a fiend for cum, even his own.
Candii began to sweat. She was getting close. “You boys are all so fucking hot … you’re gonna make me nut …”
With a soft, girly, feminine sigh, Candii’s boytoy unloaded deep in Ace’s desperate boipussy. She pulled out slowly before helping her boyfriend off the desk and to his feet. She kissed him on the cheek. “My sweet rockstar,” she blushed, giving his dick a tender squeeze.
They tidied up the loading dock, covering up all signs of sex. A massive delivery of beer was expected at sunrise to keep the crowd lubricated through tomorrow’s show. None of these five people would be there when the truck pulled up, they’d all be fast asleep by then, but they each knew tomorrow was going to be a huge day. Now that bodily fluids had been exchanged, it was time to replenish with a final beer before calling it a night.
Before the tour started, Carlos and Pete had the mature ‘what happens on tour stays on tour’ conversation. They both agreed that sex would present itself in one form or another, but so long as they were each the last person they saw at night and the first person they saw the next morning, everything would be OK. While they’d both anticipated hooking up with Ace in one form or another, neither had anticipated an orgy like this, especially not on Eternal’s loading dock, a venue they never remotely expected the tour would come to.
Candii and the musicians repaired to the Four Seasons while Adahlia went home for the night. After they’d showered, Pete turned out the light as Carlos slipped under the covers. It felt good to be home, even if only for a couple of nights.
“Hey Pete,” asked Carlos.
“Hmm?” Pete was already half-asleep.
“You wanna get married?”
Pete’s eyes flew wide open. He sat bolt upright and turned on the bedlamp. Light flooded the room. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Carlos propped himself up on one elbow, his sexy dark hair cascading down his back. “I asked if you wanted to get married.”
Pete could hardly breathe. “To you?”
Carlos giggled a little, suddenly feeling anxious that Pete might say no. “No, you idiot, to Boomer Banks. Of course to me!”
Pete threw his arms around Carlos’s neck, never ever wanting to let him go. “Yes, dude, of course I’ll marry you! I love you so fucking much!” He was crying with joy.
“I love you too, Pete, so let’s make it official.”
Pete wiped his eyes. “Yes.”
They didn’t have sex to commemorate their decision, but they kissed, touched, fondled and stroked each other’s skins and hair until way too late. They slept lightly, buzzing with the weight of the conversation they’d just had, and feeling tense with expectation about headlining tomorrow night’s show at Eternal.
*
When she got back to the hotel, Candii emailed the bands with the changed details, advising them that roadcrews were already moving stage gear to a venue she described as Atlanta’s epicentre of metal. Her email included the location of the venue and a revised running sheet for the show.
Beta Clinic, Femboy Hooters and Kuntlapper were fine with the changed schedule and venue.
Samael read the email and noticed that Hypnosissy was no longer headlining the event. He called Candii, despite the lateness of the hour, and she explained to him that she wanted to switch things up. His response was to switch things up too. He advised he’d be doing a solo acoustic set at the Atlanta show, with no stage lights or visuals, and the band would then be leaving the tour for the final two shows, citing personal reasons. Candii shrugged her shoulders when she read Samael’s reply. She was disappointed, but the tour was bigger than just one band.
The show went off without a hitch, unless you count the fact that Hypnosissy’s solo acoustic show didn’t eventuate. Candii checked with the hotel and learned that the entire band had checked out that morning, travelling to destinations unknown. The DJ filled the space on the bill left by Hypnosissy with classic metal, and nobody complained. The five remaining bands on the bill had a fucking blast, and Pete was relieved beyond belief to learn that his mental nemesis had disappeared.
Boipussy ran onstage and ran riot, launching headlong into ‘Bite My Pie’. The crowd went berserk. Ace pranced the stage with his buttplug firmly in place, and by now, most of the crowd knew his gimmick. Boipussy had played Atlanta many times, and word of mouth travels fast. By the time they’d powered through the core of their set — ‘Slutty Boyfriend,’ ‘Roadhouse Carpark’, ‘Swallow My Sword’ and ‘Fuck In Your Truck’ — a chant started. At first, Ace couldn’t work out what was being shouted, but in a lull between two tunes, he stopped to listen.
The crowd swelled. “Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Take it out!”
Ace laughed before addressing the crowd. “Take *what* out?” he asked, whispering into his mic. “I’m guessing it could be one of two things,” he smirked.
The crowd surged again. “Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Take it out!”
“Oh, you mean my dick?” Ace teased, seductively throwing his blonde hair back. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he drawled, “usually I expect a nice meal and a few drinks first.”
While the crowd wasn’t likely to complain, it wasn’t what they wanted, and Ace knew. He turned his back to the crowd, pushing his ass back a little. “Oh, you mean this?”
The crowd cheered. “Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Take it out!”
The rhythm section locked into a slow, sexy riff as Ace unbuckled his jeans and slowly pulled them down, at first, just exposing the top of his ass crack. He pulled the thick fabric down a little further, teasing the crowd, before eventually exposing the base of the toy.
“Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Take it out!”
“Well, if you insist,” Ace leered into his microphone. With his ass facing the crowd, he bent forward and began to extract the fat piece of plastic with his left hand while moaning into the mic held in his right. He teased the plug back and forth, fucking himself for a few moments, moaning into his mic, but eventually, the thickest part of the plug squeezed past his sphincter with a pop. He turned to face the crowd, holding the sweaty, musty plug in the air like a trophy. His pants were still down, pooled around his ankles, and his semi-flaccid cock waved in the breeze of the onstage electric fans. “Who wants it?”
The crowd screamed, thousands of arms waving desperately in the air.
Ace lobbed the plug into the crowd, but he couldn’t see where it landed. Presumably someone caught it and took it home.
Ace played the rest of the set naked from the waist down, apart from his boots. And as he often did, he jacked off on stage during their closer, ‘Hot Load’, splattering his DNA everywhere.
Boipussy ran offstage to rapturous applause.
“Fuck, dude,” said Carlos as Ace towelled off and grabbed a well-earned beer, “you’re a hard act to follow!”
Candii ran across to her rockstar as fast as she could manage in the stupendous heels she was wearing. “Oh my fucking god, Ace, you get me so fucking worked up sometimes. That was an unbelievable show. You’re a fucking rock god. I’m so fucking into you, sweetie.” She kissed him deeply, which wasn’t easy for Ace because he was still sweating and panting, but hey, Candii’s the boss. “I can’t wait to shoot your first video,” she said.
The DJ filled the minutes while Ass To Mouth’s roadcrew checked the stage. Pete’s drumkit was set up and ready to go, the guitars were tuned, and the amps were humming with electricity. Carlos took a moment to head into a quiet room to change. When he emerged, he was wearing a tight pair of daisy dukes, a long, tall pair of leather boots, and nothing else. It was the stage outfit he often used to wear when he was with Gorilla, and tonight seemed like a good time to bring it back.
Pete held his drumsticks in his hand, ready to perform. “Fuck, dude, you look unbelievable. Haven’t seen you wearing those shorts for a long time. Are they for Gorilla?”
“Yeah … for his memory … but it’s also for you, and for the awesome life you and I are gonna share.”
Pete smiled. “How the fuck do you think I’m gonna be able to keep time when you’ll be waving your tight ass around in those tight shorts right in front of me? My tongue is gonna be hanging out of my mouth all night, just wanting to get up into your sweaty crack…”
Carlos kissed his drummer on the lips, interrupting Pete’s sexy train of thought. There was work to be done. “I love you, Pete,” he whispered, heading to the stage door without another word.
Lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and Ass To Mouth took the stage. They tore Eternal’s roof off and flung it into space. Carlos’s hips gyrated as his guitar shredded through their riffs, and Pete’s helldrums shook the room.
Carlos remembered the times early in his career when he’d be scanning the crowd while he played, looking for someone in the crowd to pick up and fuck after the show, but as he looked over his shoulders from time to time in the direction of the drum riser, he knew those days were gone. He’d found the one he wanted.
After an hour, they came off stage, sweaty and stinky, hair wringing wet. The show was meant to be over, but the lighting guy hadn’t put the house lights on. The crowd wanted more. They stamped their feet, jumped up and down, and yelled and whistled. “Wanna do one more?” suggested Carlos.
“Sure,” said Pete. Inspiration struck. “Hey, let’s do a cover of a song we all know, and Ace can sing it!”
After a quick, tense discussion about which songs each person knew and didn’t, the four members of A2M strode back on stage with one extra member for one final song.
Ace took the mic. “Hey, Atlanta,” he said. “You know I’m a Florida boy, and I’m proud of my home State, but fuck me if Eternal isn’t the best fuckin’ metal venue on earth!”
The crowd screamed.
“Hey,” Ace continued, “so if you’ll let us, we’re gonna do one more tune for you. As you can see, Ass To Mouth is standing with me, and they’ve invited me to sing with them for you. I hope you don’t mind?”
The crowd lost what was left of its collective mind.
“OK, here we go! One, two, three, four …”
They launched into AC/DC’s ‘Back In Black’, and thousands of heads bobbed up and down in unison as devil horn fists pierced the air. The tune suited Ace’s vocal range perfectly. Carlos played a lengthy solo in the middle of the song, which in his mind, he dedicated to Gorilla. He wondered where he was right now, and if he was listening.
The song ended, and Ass To Mouth plus Ace took a bow, waving at the crowd. Ace grabbed a mic on the way off stage. “Hope to see some y’all in Miami!”
The houselights came on, signalling that the night was over.
Backstage, Pete, Carlos and Ace sat in chairs, towels around their necks, hard-earned beers in hands.
Candii was beside herself at how good tonight’s show was. The sound quality was stellar and the performances were note-perfect. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have expected anything as good as this. “Boys,” she said as she approached, “that was fucking insane!” She squealed a little, running around the room, hugging everyone in sight, jamming her tits into various chests.
Adahlia came backstage briefly to congratulate and thank the bands. She wrapped her arms around Carlos’s neck thanking his for his performance *and* for last night’s head. Carlos smiled and returned the hug. “Hey guys, I don’t want to interrupt, but I think tonight has been the most successful night we’ve ever had at Eternal. We got a second delivery of beer late in the afternoon, and we *still* nearly ran out!”
“Thirsty work,” said Pete, necking another ale. “It was hot on stage, but it must’ve been hot out there too, both in the crowd and behind the bar.” He’d been to more than enough heavy metal gigs to know.
Candii stood in the centre of the room, hovering on her high heels. “I have an announcement. Or, maybe, it’s more of a surprise. I took the liberty of taking a digital recording of Ass To Mouth’s and Boipussy’s performances tonight, live from the mixing desk. Something inside me just fucking *knew* tonight would be incredible, and I think I was right. I want you to have copies of your own performances, but I’d also love to release them online, but only if you agree.”
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“My only concern would be sound quality,” said Pete, ever the professional. “I’ve heard some dodgy bootlegs. Are you sure the recordings sound OK?”
“I spent half of your set listening closely with headphones jacked into the mixing desk,” came Candii’s reply, “and the other half dancing around and jacking off. The part I listened to sounded as good as any live recording I’ve ever heard.”
Pete smiled. Their first official release would be a live show, recorded at Eternal. Nothing could be better. “Give us a chance to listen for ourselves, but speaking for myself, I love the idea.”
“Me too,” said Carlos.
“If it sounds good, we’re in too,” replied Ace.
After a few more beers, the party headed back to the hotel. After showering, Carlos and Pete lay next to each other, freshly engaged, after what was possibly the best show of their lives.
Pete turned the light off.
“You know what?” asked Carlos?
“What, babe?”
“I can hardly believe this is real.”
Pete breathed for a few seconds, thinking. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Like, what the fuck happened at the airport yesterday with the porn, and how did that Hypnosissy guy extract an orgasm out of me on the plane? By the way, does that mean I’ve joined the mile high club? Like, everything about that was so fucked up. But also, why have I got half a million bucks parked in my bank account, and why are we on a national tour when we haven’t released a record yet? Fuck, I always thought being in a band would be fun for a while before I spent my life pushing bits of paper around a desk for the rest of my life, probably living alone and dying alone, but while all this shit has been happening, I’ve … I’ve …”
Pete’s shoulders gave way to soft sobs.
“What’s up, dude?” asked Carlos.
“I’m just feeling so fucking happy right now,” Pete replied. “I never thought I’d have this life.”
“Neither did I,” replied Carlos.
“I love you so fucking much, dude.”
“I love you too.”
They held each other close until sleep arrived.